The Democratic advocate. [volume] (Westminster, Md.) 1865-1972, 1887-12-24

wearing uncomplainingly the patched
knickerbockers and cowhide boots, bearing
in soldier s;teuce the thoughtless jeers of
his sehool-mates, and taking comfort in the
fact that sensitive little Maud was always
prettily dressed. She had been patted from
babyhood, for scarlet fever had left her
weak and nervous.
And SO the coming of glad Christmas
tide was not to them the source of bound.
less joy it seemed to others. For days
Maud had been coming home from school
full of childish prattle about the lovely
things the other girls were going to have
Couldn't she have real wax doll, with
"truly" eyes and hair, that could sing and
say mamma; and doll house, with kitchen
and real pump and stove in it, and dining
room and parlor, and lots of lovely bed
rooms upstairs; and doll carriage like
Mabel Vane's, with blue cushions, and
white wheels and body, and umbrella top
She was tired of her old dollies and he,
broken wagon. Why didn't people ever
give her such beautiful things? If she
was very good, and wrote to Santa Claus
wouldn he bring her what she wanted Sc
very, very much? Poor Mrs. Carleton
Do our hearts ever ache over our own
troubles as they do over the longings of our
little ones ? She promised Maud that Santa
Claus should bring the very things she
craved, and now she knew not how to fulfil
her pledge. Commissary and butcher bills
were still unpaid, and she so hated to ask
even for what was due her! 1t is such an
old, homely, heart-worn story-that of
Christmas warnings that must be unful-
flied We lay down our cherished plans
with a sigh Of resignation, but. when baby
eyes and baby lips are pleading, God for
give us if We are not so humbly patient, if
we accept our burden not without a muir
muir, or yield not without struggle
She had other sore perplexities She
well knew she must meet Hal Ransom
Two days had elapsed since Phil had told
her of the reception accorded him, and Maud
had preferred her complaint against her
brother for being so mean to her in not
taking the money and giving her treat.
Heaven how the widowed soul Rugged
her boy to her bosom that night, and kissed
and blessed and cried over him. Come
what might, he should have Christmas
worth remembering, for his remembrance
of her. She had long planned to send to
Chicago for handsome suit to replace the
worn and outgrown knickerbockers. 1t
would have crushed her to think of her
boys taking money from him, of all people,
no matter what the Forties did. Then
came the question as to how she would meet
him. Go to the fort she had to every day,
and meet they must 1t was not that he
would be obtrusive, he was too thorough
gentleman for that, and her last letter to
| him was such that he could not be- 1t was
written in the ecstasy of her bereavement,
when she was hiding even from herself the
faults and neglects of the buried Philip to
whom she had given her girlish love, With
lofty spirit she had told him she lived only
TO teach her children to revere their fathers
memory, aud that she could never think of
accepting aid from any one, though she
thanked him for the delicacy and thought
fulness of his well-meant offer She had
asked herself many time in the last year
whether, if it were to be done again, she
could find 1t in her heart to be quite SO cold
and repellent She wondered if he had
ever heard that the last year of her hand
some Philips life had been devoted more
to other women than to her. She could not
tolerate the idea that he, above all, should
suppose that between Philip and herself all
had not been blissful, and that she had been
neglected not little. And yet-and yet
was she unlike other women that just now
her toilet received rather more thought than
usual, and that she wondered would he find
her faded-changed?
They met, as men and women whose
hearts hold weightier secrets must meet,
with the ease and cordially which their
breeding demands. Scene there was none;
but she saw, and saw instantly, what she
had vainly striven to teach herself she was
utterly Indifferent to, that in his eyes she
was no more faded than his love in hers
She could haYe scourged herself for the
thrill of life and youth it gave her.
That night little Philip was Rugged closer
than ever. He had been telling her how
the Captain was moving into his new quar-
tiers, and the children trooped over there
the moment they got back from school, and
would not ask them, because they were in
fantry, and Maud cried, and the Captain
himself came out and took her in his arms
and carried her, and made him come too,
and they all had nuts and raisins and apples,
and the Captain was just as kind to them
as though they were cavalry-Gmore too,
for he kept Maudie on his knee most of the
time, and wanted US to stay, but we had to
go and meet mamma. And he said that
was what made him proud of me from the
first, because was so true to you, mamma, I"
said Phil. al suppose because I wouldn't
take his half dollar"
She was silent moment pressing her
lips to his cheek, and striving hard to sub
due the tears that rose to her eyes. She
had something to ask of her boy that was
hard, very hard. Yet it had to be done.
''You were right, Philip. Itwould have
hurt mamma more than words can tell